


Making Waves

by ganbarimaster



Series: Jinzula [3]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Boats and Ships, Gen, Northrend, Original Character(s), Pirates, Sailing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-07-01 00:09:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15762564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ganbarimaster/pseuds/ganbarimaster
Summary: Jinzula continues on her journey of self-discovery, after narrowly escaping her predicament in the troll ziggurat. She looks to the loa of her Drakkari ancestors as her path to understanding what it means to be a troll, but encounters some all-too-familiar obstacles along the way.





	Making Waves

Several days had passed since Jinzula had made her narrow escape from the enormous ziggurat of the Vilebranch tribe. She now wandered the Hinterlands exhausted and aimless. The mysterious troll who had confronted her within the central chamber was undoubtedly a “witch doctor” of sorts, capable of assaulting the mind and body with toxins and mystical totems. She had heard talk of such individuals whilst masquerading as just another member of the tribe, but had dismissed it as mere superstition. That she had been unable to elude this particular individual had been a humbling experience. There was yet much she had to learn—about herself, about trolls, and about the powers at their disposal. Jinzula was surprised to learn that there was an entire maze of catacombs beneath the ziggurat that she had been hitherto unaware of. Another oversight on her part. But it had been key to her escape. 

This daring adventure of self-discovery had done little to ingratiate Jinzula to her people, nor to encourage familiarity with the culture, language, and so on. It was, ultimately, a harrowing and alienating experience. Even so, her motivation had not been sapped. There was still a drive to learn, to connect with this fundamental aspect of her being. She would always be a troll, and with that comes certain expectations—and it could be beneficial in some situations to use those expectations to her advantage. There was ever an instinct to connect with something which was not her previous life of captivity, and it seemed only natural to make that connection with her own people. She just had to find a way to bridge the gap. 

Throughout her time among the people of the Vilebranch tribe, Jinzula learned a great deal of troll history, and of the highly revered loa. The texts on troll culture she had access to at Baron Rosemont’s estate only ever detailed troll history as it related to the Kingdom of Arathor, highlighting those troll habits which were thought to be most strange and dangerous by human standards—cannibalism, regeneration, voodoo, and so on. There was no real understanding there of the various tribes and their loa. During the late night fireside discussions with the storytellers of the Vilebranch tribe, Jinzula discovered that her Frostmane tribe was descended from the Drakkari ice trolls of Northrend. She had heard the names of the loa the Drakkari worshipped—Mam’toth, Sseratus, Har’koa—and how their powers were abused and absorbed so that the Drakkari might combat the seemingly endless undead scourge menace. Of course, she sought to re-connect with the Frostmane tribe primarily, but in her current state, Jinzula felt confident that they would not accept her. She didn’t sound like them, she didn’t act like them, and she only barely looked like them. 

It became clear that these loa were a focal point of troll society and culture. As with the talk of witch doctors this too smacked of superstitious ramblings, but her recent perilous encounter had given her pause. Jinzula believed that the Frostmane tribe still worshipped the loa of their Drakkari ancestors, and so if she was to gain a deeper understanding of them, becoming familiar with the loa seemed to be the most direct path. And so it was that she embarked upon a most difficult of journeys. To Northrend, to Zul’Drak, and to the great loa of the frozen north. 

 

Passage to Northrend took some time to secure. Those frozen wastes were still considered to be dangerous territory, holding remnants of the scourge, and having been targeted by the Legion. Both Alliance and Horde fleets were dedicated to the Broken Isles, and so traffic heading further north was at a minimum. Luckily, there was a goblin clipper sailing out from Ratchet with the aim of collecting some cargo that Jinzula wasn’t supposed to ask any questions about. Judging from the abundance of mining equipment, one could certainly make a few educated guesses concerning their goals. There was an expectation that Jinzula would help to protect them from any unwanted attention, and also that she would swab the deck—but some obnoxious robotic device with a flashing red light seemed to have the latter in hand. With the exception of some choppy waves and rough weather, it had mostly been smooth sailing. There was enough to drink to pass the time, and the shrewd goblins had a number of gambling games they enjoyed which became addictive after a while, but were no friend of the coin purse. After a few days had passed, the lookout seemed to be agitated about a vessel which had been trailing them for a while—and was gaining ground. It looked to be a large freighter, but the markings were non-descript. They had all quickly reached the same conclusion. Pirates. 

Instead of attempting to outrun the vessel, the goblin captain ordered that they turn to port and prepare something called the “electro-dyna-cannons”. Though a rather diminutive fellow, comparatively speaking, he still maintained the kind of gravitas which Jinzula had not come to expect from a goblin. His crew were a bundle of nerves, carrying enough explosives to send them either rocketing to the Skywall or plummeting to the depths of Nazjatar. But their captain was the very picture of composure. Unfortunately, it didn’t help. One or two of the ridiculous cannons misfired and the sails caught fire, injuring half of their cannoneers. By the time they had put the fire out, the other vessel had pulled up alongside them. They weren’t pirates after all—they were privateers. And Jinzula thought that there was something familiar about them.

“Well, well, well,” came a voice she knew all too well, “if it isn’t _Giselle_.”

Two burly, tanned sailors had boarded the goblin clipper brandishing their blades, and had then stepped aside to let their captain pass. He was a head above his tallest man, wearing a smart burgundy doublet which was impeccable, accented with a green neckerchief, and his legs were adorned with a pair of flowing white petticoat breeches. There was a rapier tucked into his belt which didn’t look worn in the slightest. This, was Captain Pendleton Rosemont, the elder brother of the Baron Rosemont to whom Jinzula had _belonged_ for many, many years.

“There is no one here by that name, _knave_.” she spat. 

“What, did you give yourself a new one? Adorable.”

“Why are you here, Pendleton?”

She barely managed to enunciate the words through clenched teeth, which felt like they were fused together. Her large fingernails were digging into the palms of her hands, fists wrapped up in a ball of fury. Just then, the goblin captain pushed past Jinzula carrying a ridiculously large sack of gold coins in his arms. He was panting heavily, not quite the stoic figure she had encountered earlier. 

“Alright, alright,” he began, exacerbated, “what’s it gonna cost to keep our heads?”

There was a silence as Pendleton examined the bulging sack of coins. A smirk creeped across his round face, puffy red cheeks pushing up toward his eyes. He looked like a child in a man’s body, and the curly blonde locks didn’t help. 

“Just her.” he said, gesturing smugly to Jinzula.

Her heart sank deep into her stomach. The goblins would agree to this immediately, they had no reason to hold onto her if it meant saving their own hides. Some goblins behind her had already begun pushing at her lower back. She swatted them away.

“Oh, and whatever she paid to get passage on this vessel.”

“You got yourself a deal, pal!” replied the captain, enthusiastically, while tossing over some coins, “Sorry lady. It’s just good business.”

She growled at him as the two sailors stepped forward and grabbed her by the arms on either side. Her heart was pounding violently against her chest, she could feel it in her neck and face. If she lashed out now, they’d hurt her. It would just make things more difficult later. And if they had wanted her dead, she would have been dead already. For now, she waited. Biding her time. She had gotten out of stickier situations than this before. She had to.


End file.
